


Punchline

by Plus1STR



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Cartinelli - Freeform, F/F, Femslash, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:45:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3466511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plus1STR/pseuds/Plus1STR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie's got a mean left hook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punchline

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Soco](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590876) by [Rosetta (Melime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/pseuds/Rosetta)



Angie Martinelli was the youngest of six children and the only girl among the lot. And as the youngest child growing up in a swarm of rowdy older boys during the Depression, she picked up a few tricks here and there. She learned to play rough; how to get down in the dirt, how to wrestle, how to tie a good knot, what to do in a fight— the basics. But above all, she quickly learned what it felt like to be followed home in the middle of the night. So when Angie closed up the auto-mat for the night, before she even made it down two blocks, she knew she was about to land herself into trouble.

It wasn't the first time Angie got stuck with cleanup duty and locking up the auto-mat and it likely wouldn't be the last, but she didn't make it a habit of leaving so late. In truth, she had hoped Peggy would show up as she’d promised Angie a visit after a bit of bribing involving a rhubarb pie, but Peggy hadn't. While she was a tad disappointed, the no-show hadn't surprised Angie; after all, she knew now that Peggy didn't work at the phone company. A part of her wished Peggy hadn't told her about her work as an agent because, more often than not, it left Angie worrying and with a flair for the dramatics, worrying was something she did all too well. But at that moment, Peggy was far from the forefront of her mind.

Angie weighed her options carefully. She could try to outrun her stalker, but her working uniform and shoes would offer her very little maneuverability and the Griffith was too far to make a mad dash for. She could always try to yell for help; Peggy often joked that Angie was always armed and dangerous after hearing her yell a string of obscenities while behind the wheel. But it was the middle of the night and it wasn't a residential area, so the likelihood of someone hearing her was slim. There was always the last resort—fight. Sure, Angie was small, but she learned to use it to her advantage when her brothers would dog pile her when their mother wasn't looking.

Angie walked another block before cutting a corner and taking a turn into an alleyway. She never looked back to see who it was that had been following her, but she knew taking them by surprise would be her best bet. Without any warning, she spun on her heels and threw what she hoped was the hardest punch she could muster. She was no Captain America, but she was a scrapper and she knew how to throw one hell of a punch.

_“_ _Fuck_ _,”_ she hissed, shaking out her in an attempt to relieve the burning sensation that shot through it when her fist connected with her stalker’s face. It was a surprisingly soft face. Much like Peggy’s. In fact, it was Peggy’s face. Angie had just punched her girlfriend square in the nose.

“Jesus H. Christ, Angie,” Peggy’s voice came out sounding muffled from the hand that nursed her nose and congested from the blood that ran down her face. Anyone that claimed Peggy had a mean right hook hadn't yet been on the receiving end of Angie’s left.

“A hit like that could put some of the boys out of a job.” Peggy joked, but the look Angie was sporting was far from amused. Peggy moved her hand away from her face and her nose had already begun to redden and bruise.

“Aw, hell, English.” Angie raised her hand to lightly touch Peggy’s nose and, as Peggy winced, Angie was certain she had broken it. “Shit. It’s broken. That has to be broken. I broke your nose,” she spewed out quickly, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed it softly against Peggy’s face.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Margaret,” the worry in Angie’s voice quickly turned to frustration, “Carter!” She gave Peggy’s arm a light tap with the back of her hand. “Even my ma would have the good graces to forgive me if she knew some nut job was following me around at night!” She dropped the handkerchief into Peggy’s hand. “I thought you were a mugger. I was losing my mind for four blocks. Four blocks, Peg! Who does that?”

“The rather dodgy chap I sorted at that last corner seemed to be the type,” Peggy offered softly, hoping to calm Angie. She carefully wiped at her nose, cleaning the blood that ran from it. She’d known Angie well enough now to know how to calm her down and when Angie became still, she knew it worked. “There was quite an unpleasant mess at work, but I had hoped I’d catch you on the walk home. It would seem I wasn't the only one.”

Guilt quickly spread across Angie’s face; Peggy’s explanation made sense, though why she didn't just say something instead of following Angie into an alleyway marked itself as an afterthought.

“Is it broken?” Angie asked, pulling Peggy’s hand away from her face to eye to subject in question.

“Possibly,” Peggy replied, trying to scrunch her nose. Angie pursed her lips tightly as they formed into a frown. “But it seems unlikely.”

With that, Angie closed what little distance separated them and placed a soft kiss to Peggy’s lips. It was gentle, but lingered long enough for their noses to brush against each other. Angie felt Peggy’s sharp intake and pulled away, investigating her face for further injury.

“Mind the nose, darling.”


End file.
